


Remembrance

by Trinkisme



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Fantasy, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 14:19:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17326607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trinkisme/pseuds/Trinkisme
Summary: What you remember saves you. ― W. S. Merwin. A story of immortal love. Dramione.   Written for sleepygrimm.





	1. Chapter 1

 

As a child, Hermione loved going to the National Gallery with her parents. Her young eyes would sparkle in wonder at the beauty contained inside its walls. Her mum, always patient, would explain to her the various styles of art and the different periods of history when they were created.

"Art is a visual postcard to future generations. Paintings speak as eloquently as the books from their age if one knows how to read them," she would confide to her impressionable daughter.

Hermione listened dutifully and absorbed the knowledge like a sponge. She tried her best to understand what each painting had to say. But her favorites were the portraits. She would stare at the various faces staring back at her and wondered how they would appear in the here-and-now. Certainly, the clothing would change. And the way they styled their hair. But would she be able to recognize them in the modern world? Her fantasies often got the best of her. Hermione was a lonely child. Too smart, too curious, too different…...just too much for most children her age. So she pretended. She would imagine the people from the portraits stepping out of their frames to visit her. They all got on very well. None of them told her she read too much. They weren't bothered by her disinterest in sports. On the contrary, in that friendly world her massive intellect created, her new friends listened to all she said.

And in turn, they spoke back to her.

There was one piece that spoke to her more than the others. She was barely seven when she first saw it. It was of a young boy. His gleaming blonde hair seemed dull compared to the brighter eyes underneath it. Hermione wondered if those silvery orbs were real or just the product of the artist's fantasy. Although the face was proud, the eyes seemed to call out a silent plea. The stare mesmerized her. It looked to her that the boy was desperately looking for something. Or someone. During one visit, she asked her mum about the piece. The artist was Russian, the painting from the nineteenth century.

 _So long ago_ , thought Hermione. How was it then that the image in the painting seemed so real? More to the point, why did she have such an inexplicable feeling of knowing the boy in it? She couldn't explain the sensation, but it was strong. She was sure she'd seen his face before…...had his image been in a book she'd read? She didn't know. But she knew how he looked when he laughed, which somehow she knew wasn't often, but she'd seen it. Hermione didn't stop to puzzle  _that_ out. She could almost hear the timbre of his laugh; unlike the preternatural, starry glow of his eyes, his laugh had been rough and earthy.

When she mentioned these things to her mother, Dr. Granger frowned worriedly. Hermione had always been an exceptional child; heightened creativity and imagination were naturally part of the package of being gifted. Except…...in the case of her daughter, that wasn't the end of it. Unexplainable oddities occurred; instances where paranormal manifestations were off the scale. A mother should never be afraid of their child, but sometimes Jean was. Hearing Hermione speak about the boy in the painting gave her goosebumps. The hair on her arms rose; she felt an unnatural chill.

Then Hermione gasped. Jean jumped, badly startled.

"Mum…..did you see that?" she asked, her finger pointing shakedly at the painting and her voice sounding almost as frightened as her mother felt.

 _Jean Granger, I'm ashamed at you. This is your daughter,_ she internally scolded herself. Keeping her voice level and calm, she asked, "What did you see, Cricket?"

"The boy….he tried to talk to me."

Jean sagged, relieved. Imagination was something she could handle. This wasn't Hermione's toys floating in the air above her head or cookies taking only two seconds to bake after she, as a precocious toddler, stomped her foot and demanded them  _now_. Compared to those instances, this was normal.

"What did he say, love?"

Hermione bit her lower lip. "Uh…..I'm not sure….But I saw his lips move."

Jean smothered a smile.

Hermione, catching that look, protested. "I'm not making it up, Mum. He did. He did talk to me!"

"Darling, perhaps it's time we head home. You're tired and a wee bit emotional. A nice, little kip will set you back to rights. And I could do with a cup of tea."

"But Mum….I can't go now…...he needs me!"

Jean tried hard not to lose her patience. "Hermione, why would a painting need you?"

Her daughter's eyes filled with tears of frustration. "I don't know. But he does. I think that's what he was saying."

Jean pinched the bridge of her nose. Yes, a headache was definitely on the horizon. A long-suffering sigh escaped her. "Hermione,  _really_ …"

"He did it again!"

Jean's eyes flashed to the painting. She saw no difference…..except for the eyes. They  _did_  seem a bit brighter than before. A shiver shot down her spine.

"I know what he said this time." Hermione turned and looked at her mother with the most solemn expression Jean had ever seen on her little daughter's cherubic face.

"He said, " _Come back."_

* * *

The summer of Draco's tenth year found the young wizard enjoying an uncommonly fine holiday. He liked escaping the strict standards of Malfoy Manor; his father and mother always loosened the reins when they were on the continent. Here at their villa in the magical part of Tuscany, he was allowed to sleep late, play in the vineyards, ride his broom whenever he wished and eat gelato until he felt he would pop.

But this day was shaping up to be different. He would be accompanying his mother to Rome. His father was meeting with several other heads of families to discuss something Narcissa had not wanted Draco around to hear. Despite her husband's insistence that she stop mollycoddling their son, Narcissa had put her foot down. He'll be going to Hogwarts in a year, she had argued. There would be plenty of time for  _that_  then.

Instead, Narcissa wanted them to meet the Zabinis; both witches had secured a reservation with an exclusive wizarding designer to select a couture robe for an upcoming gala. While they were there, Draco and Blaise were going to tour the ancient Roman Colosseum. Mipsy, Narcissa's personal elf, was going with them to watch after the two boys. Blaise giggled when he saw Mipsy after she had been transfigured to look like a young woman.

"Mipsy's got a….. _booty_ ," he whispered loudly.

Draco rolled his eyes, but it was hard to tell whose cheeks turned pinker; his or the elf's.

Once they were there, the boys ceased paying attention to Mipsy's anatomical upgrades and listened with interest as the tour guide fed them thrilling tales of the games and gladiators who had fought for their lives and freedom. During the tour, they passed one stall that caught Draco's attention. It was little more than stone walls and dirt, but he felt pulled by an invisible force to enter. As he did, he saw a stain on the wall that looked like blood. With a natural, morbid curiosity all boys seemed to possess, Draco wondered if it was blood left behind by one of the contestants of the games. He moved toward it to get a better look. On closer inspection, he saw it was not blood at all, but a complex hieroglyph etched into the stone. Draco was not old enough to have studied Ancient Runes, but he knew the meaning of this symbol. He had seen one like it above the arch outside the family mausoleum. It was a  _remembrance_ rune.

Draco's brow crinkled. Had wizards fought as gladiators?

So distracted by that thought, he didn't notice when he absently touched the rune with his index finger. Instantly, Draco was pulled into a vision. He was still at the Colosseum, but now he was outside in one of the spectator boxes reserved for the families of the senators. Lush cushions supported the tall frame of a handsome young man. A handsome young man who happened to have an uncanny resemblance to Draco. He gasped.

 _That's me!_ he realized in amazement. Yet, not quite him. The young man's skin was tanned. His body hardened like steel. He looked like he could use a bath.

He watched this older version of himself lean forward toward a bowl of grapes and grab one of the fruits in apparent boredom. Throwing it into his mouth, he asked his friends nearby how long it would be before the chariot race started.

A darker-skinned youth answered back and asked, "Claudius, are you bored already?"

The young Roman nodded, which caused the other youth to state there was scheduled an execution first; the chariot race would follow afterward. Draco heard this version of himself speaking in a strange language, asking who had fallen out of favor this time with Nero.

The dark-skinned lad shrugged his shoulders, obviously uninterested, but the black-haired girl lounging nearby said she heard it was a band of Jews who had converted to the strange new belief arising from Judea. When he heard that, Claudius paled considerably. He stood unsteadily to his feet when the condemned were led out. His heart pounded painfully when he saw a curly head of hair stand out among the others.

 _Hadassah,_  he mourned. The young Draco caught up in the vision didn't understand how he had instant knowledge of this girl, but he somehow knew she'd been the slave of Claudius' mother. Faithful. Loyal. Beautiful. She had been captured at a young age. He saw Claudius' memories of her when she'd first been brought to their home. A wild little thing, with even wilder hair. They had grown up together. Hadassah was clever, for a slave. She had a natural affinity for the healing arts; but Claudius' father, a stern Roman senator, never warmed to her. She had been whipped once by him, when after becoming nubile, she had accidentally soiled some of the linens she'd sat upon. Young Claudius had tended to her wounds, and when she'd healed, he asked his father if he could have her as his slave.

His father had smirked; his only response had been to say, " Be discreet, my son. Have her if you must. But do not get her with child. Your mother would not approve."

It had only been a matter of time before they had fallen in love. If Claudius had just kept her as a slave to warm his bed and heart, she would have remained safe. But Hadassah clung to this strange, new faith that upheld purity. She begged him not to defile her by reducing her to the role of a mere concubine. So Claudius did the only thing he knew to do to have the woman of his heart. He freed Hadassah and asked her to be his wife. When his father found out, he was furious. He conspired with certain members of the Praetorium guard to have her arrested on a trumped up charge of stealing his wife's jewellery.

Innocent,  _pure_  Hadassah would die because his father thought her beneath them.

And there she stood now. Claudius could hardly see her for all his tears. He had not been able to reason with his father, who could have gotten, if he'd needed it, the full backing of the Senate and with it, the approval of that madman who was Emperor.

He whimpered when he saw lions being led into the arena. Of all ignoble deaths, this was one of the most cruel. Claudius didn't want to watch, but he couldn't turn his face away as the beasts charged. He saw it when one of the great cats reached Hadassah. She instinctively raised her arm as a shield; springing up, the lion captured her forearm in its powerful jaws and brought her down.

When Claudius cried out in horror, Hadassah turned her eyes from the lion to him. Despite the distance separating them, he could clearly hear what she said.

" _Remember,_ " she pleaded, her soulful brown eyes growing and growing until they were all Claudius could see. They became all Draco could see, too, for he had become the young Roman in the dream. He didn't think he would ever be able to forget that face. The doomed woman's eyes would forever haunt his memories.

The shock of that scene hurled Draco out of his vision. He found himself in his day and time, breathing hard, pulse racing wildly. Tears poured down his cheeks.

"Young Master?" Mipsy whispered worriedly as she turned around to look at him. "What happened?"

Draco honestly didn't know.


	2. Chapter 2

Narcissa was the first to notice the change in Draco following their holiday in Italy. She couldn't fathom the cause of it, but with a mother's sharp intuition, she felt something had profoundly affected him. Mipsy, of course, dutifully told her mistress something  _had_  distressed the young master during their visit to the muggle ruins, but in front of her elf, Narcissa dismissed any concerns. Secretly, she felt ashamed at her short-sightedness. Sending her son off to tour a place where so many had met their deaths had perhaps not been the best idea. Draco was a sensitive child; compassionate, too, although that insight was something best not shared with her husband. Narcissa sighed; Draco was not suited to the life Lucius envisioned for him. He wanted a soldier; what they'd been given was a soul more inclined to the arts. Narcissa knew this year coming up would be pivotal for her son. She yearned to know how to help him.

As for Draco, he'd been unable to shake the vision he'd seen. What did it mean? He wished he could tell someone what he'd experienced..…..but who? His father was out of the question. His mother would listen, but he didn't think she would understand. He didn't himself. He'd been shown a version of…..his past? His future? Draco was confused; it was too much for his young mind to comprehend. All he knew was that it had, somehow, been  _him._ He'd been a young man who had brutally lost his true love. What was a ten year old boy supposed to do with that?

For the next year, what Draco did with 'it' was exactly nothing. His life followed the pattern of prior years; he had lessons with his tutors and playtimes with his friends. The only new item was one his father took great pride in.

"My Son, welcome to manhood," he'd said before opening the door to his study where heads of the sacred twenty-eight stared back at the young Malfoy heir.

So this was it. His father's secret meetings. The ones his mother had kept him from for as long as she could. The ones he was supposed to be a part of from here on out.

Those meetings were an eye-opener for Draco. He used to be proud of being the son of Lucius Malfoy. Now, he couldn't help comparing his father to what he remembered of Claudius' father. Stern, authoritative, arrogant. And underneath it all, cruel. He shivered at the contempt expressed by the wizards at these gatherings. Their gleeful desires to inflict abuse on non-magical people. Draco didn't want any part of it. How was he to escape this future his father was planning for him? He kept recalling his vision. Hadassah's big brown eyes and her tearful plea to  _remember_.

But what good would remembering do?

* * *

Jean Granger took her daughter one last time to the Gallery the summer before she was to leave for Hogwarts, but the painting of the boy was no longer on display. Secretly, Jean was glad. Although she now had an explanation for the bizarre incidents Hermione had unintentionally produced (her daughter was a magical being according to Professor McGonagall), there was something uncanny about that work of art. Though she wasn't a witch herself, Jean could feel it was  _another_  power that pulsed through the image of that portrait. It wasn't Hermione's magic giving it breath and animation; its life originated from another source. When they were told the piece had been loaned to another museum, Jean felt a profound relief.

She prayed she would never see it again

* * *

Hermione was jittery with nerves and excitement; the day had finally arrived. Here she was, about to leave her parents to go to a totally magical school in Scotland. She couldn't help but feel her life was on the cusp of change. After she kissed her mum and dad goodbye and boarded the train, she looked around eagerly, hoping she was prepared for whatever wondrous sight she might see. But so far, the ride was proving to be uneventful. Rather disappointing. She hadn't known what to expect exactly; levitating train seats? Flying tea trolleys? Actually, she hadn't seen anything magical at all.

Already bored, she eagerly agreed when the shy boy sitting across from her asked for help after realizing his toad was missing. Not that Hermione had any affinity for amphibious creatures; if it came to it, she hoped she wouldn't have to touch it, but right then, she felt she'd do anything to get out of that stuffy train compartment. Finding a pet was just as good an excuse as any. Neville, the shy boy, said he'd take the right half of the corridor, so Hermione took off in the direction of the left. She'd introduced herself to several children; a few looked promising as potential friends, but the further she went toward the rear of the train, she snobbier the encounters became. She did happen upon a pair of boys, one raven-haired with glasses, the other a ginger with a dirty nose, in a compartment by themselves. She found out their names were Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley. She'd read about Harry and was thrilled to meet him. But after visiting with the two boys, she once again felt the pang of disappointment. Ronald was from a magical family, so he averred, yet totally botched a spell….that is, if it  _was_  an actual spell. Shouldn't a boy who lived with magic his whole life be able to tell? And Harry. He was another bitter dose of reality. Hermione knew his story. The Boy Who Lived. The only one to have survived the killing curse. The one who had apparently defeated He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named. And this same boy couldn't repair his own glasses?

Once she left them, Hermione continued on in her search for Neville's missing toad. Only two more compartments were left. In one, she'd found a group of girls already wearing their Hogwarts robes.

"Who are you?" asked the one sitting in the middle; a short, raven-haired girl with a pug nose who looked at Hermione with disdain after she had opened their door.

"I might ask  _you_  the same question," she saucily replied. Hermione knew that was rude; after all, she was the one who had barged, unasked, into their compartment, but there was something about that girl that set Hermione's teeth on edge. She knew her mother would admonish her and tell her not to be so hasty in making snap judgements on people; how many times had she heard her mum say, "don't judge a book by its cover", but she couldn't help it. Besides, it wasn't the girl's appearance that put Hermione off, but her air of entitlement. Well, she could just get over herself.

The raven-haired girl's proud face glowered with indignation at the thought of her pedigree being called into question. Sitting upright, she haughtily replied, "I'm Pansy Parkinson, descended from Perseus Parkinson, former Minister of Magic. My family is one of the sacred twenty-eight."

"My goodness, that was quite a mouthful," Hermione airily responded. "I imagine it hard to often work that into a conversation."

Inside, she immediately cringed  _What's wrong with me? Drat my mouth! Why didn't I just leave? Great work, Hermione, were not even to Hogwarts yet, and you've already making enemies._

Before Pansy had a chance to reply, another of the girls, a thick-waisted one with an ugly sneer on a severely freckled face, approached the entrance of the compartment where Hermione was standing.

"Get lost, freak," she hissed before slamming the door shut in Hermione's face.

* * *

Draco sighed as he stretched out on the train seat. He was glad to be alone for awhile. He enjoyed the quiet; whether because it was his nature to need it or whether he was just used to it, he didn't bother to examine. His father expected him to be friends with Vincent and Gregory, mainly because their fathers were  _his_ cronies, but they weren't Draco's cup of tea. He liked Theo Nott, better. Theo was quiet, but interesting. Blaise Zabini was a better choice still, but he'd not been on board the train due to his mother's latest wedding coinciding with the first day of school.

 _You would think a mother would plan better than that,_ he thought. Poor Blaise.

Lifting his arms to cradle the back of his head, he'd just shut his eyes when he heard the door to his compartment slide open.

 _Merlin, not again._  Couldn't he catch a break? What was it now? Vin wanting to borrow another handful of sickles for some pumpkin pasties?

He could just imagine the meaty voice pleading, " _But I'm hungry alright? My father never gives_   _me enough for treats,"_  although Crabbe's sizable girth would contradict that claim.

Yet, what met Draco's ear wasn't what he'd expected. Instead of loud, boyish sounds, he heard faint sniffles.

"I….I'm sorry…..I didn't mean to wake you," he heard a soft, wobbly voice say.

Draco opened his eyes and turned his head to see which one of the silly witches from next door was bothering him. The next instant, he gasped. Before him was a girl he'd never seen except in a vision. Wild, curly hair. Soft brown eyes, once again filled with tears. It was Hadassah, the young slave of Claudius' childhood standing in front of him. His legs swung down on their own accord; he shakily stood.

"Hadassah?" he asked, astonished. How was this possible? The girl before him lived in ancient Rome. Had died a terrible death. Draco knew it. He'd seen it. He'd felt the agony of it as Claudius. Yet here she was again. Draco felt the strongest urge to touch her, to make sure she was real. To hug her and take away her tears. The strong emotions overwhelming him were shocking. When had he ever felt that way about a girl before?

Next to the door, Hermione was equally gobsmacked. " _You!_ I know you…...you're the boy from the painting!" She couldn't believe what she was seeing. The portrait had been done in the nineteenth century; this boy was the same age she was. But the bright gleam of his hair…...and those eyes. She'd never mistake those eyes. It was him. But wrapped up in a modern package. She finally had the answer to her musings from so long ago. She now knew what the boy would look like if he could step out of his painting and talk to her.

"What's your name?" she ventured to ask.

Draco was stymied. What was he supposed to say? Should he say Claudius? Deciding that would be too confusing, he said, "I'm Draco. I…..I can't believe you're here, Hadassah."

Hermione's brow puzzled. "That's twice you've called me that. But actually, my name's not Hadassah. It's Hermione."

Now it was Draco's turn to feel confused.  _Hermione?_

"I hope you don't mind me intruding. I was hoping to find a toad. A boy on the train lost his. You wouldn't have happened to have seen it, I suppose?"

Draco shook his head. "No….I don't suppose I have."

Hermione looked disappointed. "Oh...a pity then. Well, I shan't bother you anymore." She turned around and gave him one last, wistful look. "I'm very happy to have met you, Draco."

As she left to go, Draco called out, "Wait! Come back!"

Hermione slowly turned around, her eyes as big as saucers.

"What did you say?" she breathed in barely above a whisper.

Draco swallowed loudly. "Come back," he said pleadingly. "Please."

Hermione shut the door and sat down where Draco had been earlier lounging. He immediately sat next to her.

"This is so strange," she confessed. "That's what the boy in the painting said to me. The one who looked just like you."

"You look just like Hadassah," said Draco, agreeing with the bizarreness of their meeting.

For the next hour, the two lonely children talked, telling each other their stories. Hermione listened to the sad story of the slave girl while Draco was told about the boy who had come to life in the painting. There was no shyness or hesitancy in their expressions; they talked like they had known each other forever. Perhaps they had. Without realizing they had done so, they'd reached for the other's hand. They felt no awkwardness about it. All they knew was that they felt an instant connection; that somehow, they were kindred spirits.

After those stories, more conversation followed. What they hoped to learn at school, their greatest fears and ambitions. Draco was impressed with Hermione's knowledge about Hogwarts; she knew more than he did about the school, and his father was on the board of governors. He laughed when she boldly brushed his bangs off his face and declared she like his hair much better this way than in the dreadful bowl cut style of the portrait. His laugh was just as Hermione had always imagined; earthy, with a boyish roughness to it that she found very appealing.

Outside their window, the first stars began to show. The lamps on the train suddenly flickered on. Draco was just about to mention that they should be arriving soon at Hogwarts when the door to their compartment slid open and Pansy stepped in.

"Draco, shouldn't you be putting on your rob….." she started to ask when she saw who was sitting next to him. Her face turning an ugly red, Pansy pointed her finger accusingly at the girl sitting right next to him, and cried out, "What…...what is  _she_  doing here?"

Draco and Hermione hastily let go of each other's hand and stood. "Pansy...this is Hermione," he began to say before she interrupted. "She told you her name? What a compliment, Draco. Princess here thought she was too good to tell  _me_  what it was. Now I know why she didn't."

 _Cripes,_ thought Draco. Pansy was smirking. He knew that look well. He had a sick premonition of what was coming.

"Has Hermione mentioned her  _family_  name yet, Draco?" She asked with a false sweetness. "No? Well, I asked around and found out who she was. Your little friend is a Granger. Not a Dagworth-Granger, but just Granger. You know what that means."

Draco closed his eyes. Dear God, they'd only had an hour of happiness. Why was this happening?

Pansy looked viciously at Hermione. "You're nothing but a  _mudblood_ ," she spat. "Do you know what that word means? It means you're a filthy muggle who has stolen magic."

You're a worthless slave who has stolen jewellery.

 _It's happening all over again_ , Draco painfully realized.


	3. Chapter 3

It's said parents send their children to school to learn from the teachers, but it's the classmates who really teach them. This was certainly true in Draco and Hermione's case. For the next five years, in between learning all the various branches of Magic, they also learned how to misdirect, how to deceive with the truth…..how to effectively play a role. They had to if they were going to continue their friendship. Their real teachers demanded no less.

Their education began before they left the train to follow Hagrid into the boats. After Pansy called Hermione that deplorable word, Draco had to act fast. Having been a part of his father's meetings, he knew what his side was capable of; he couldn't chance harm to Hadassah again, even in her current embodiment as a pint-sized witch. No, this time, he would have to be smarter.

He would have to outfox the fox.

Begging Hermione with his eyes to understand what he was about to do next, he stepped away from her and said in a voice dripping with disgust, "You told me your house was an ancient one! That you had ties to Nicolas Flamel!"

What Hermione actually told him was that the boy in the painting name's was Nikolai, but he prayed she would catch on to what he was doing.

Pansy began to laugh. "Oh, Draco….did you really fall for  _that_?"

Draco silently pleaded with his new friend to play her part. She didn't disappoint. Hermione blinked once at his sudden change; then she put her hands on her hips and jutted out her chin. "Yeah...well...you lied, too! You said you could disappear from England and reappear in America in the blink of an eye!"

Hermione winced; that sounded lame even to her, but she'd never been able to lie well. Draco fought hard not to roll his eyes. But Pansy didn't notice.

Ignoring Hermione, she smirked at Draco. "Been bragging much?" Then she turned to Hermione and informed, "And the correct terms are apparate and disapparate. Of course, I wouldn't expect ignorant filth like  _you_  to know that. Come on, Draco. Let's leave Princess Muddy and join our own kind."

As they moved to leave, Draco glanced back at the curly-haired witch and mouthed, " _Potter_."

Puzzled, Hermione watched them go. She wasn't sure what he meant, but she supposed she would now need to follow Harry and his friend to find out.

* * *

 _Draco's bloody brilliant_ , reflected Hermione later that evening.

What he'd done had been perfect. After the feast and sorting, he'd come up to her, Harry and Ron before they'd started up the staircase to their dormitories. The two boys had not exactly welcomed Hermione's presence, but they hadn't asked her to leave, either, so she'd hung around to find out what Draco's cryptic instruction had meant.

"Harry Potter….at last. My father told me to introduce myself to you. He said you were raised in the muggle world and might need help adjusting back into wizarding society…." here he looked dismissively at Ron, "...the  _proper_  kind of wizarding society, I mean. You'll find you can't be too careful, Potter. I can help you there. I'm Malfoy. Draco Malfoy." Then he held out his hand.

Hermione thought Draco did a marvelous job imitating Pansy and her arrogant tone. He was quite the actor. She fought not to giggle.

Beside her, Ron bristled. "Shove off, Malfoy! Who asked you over here?"

"See what I mean?" Draco sneered. "Absolutely no manners. But seriously, what can you expect from a Weasley except red hair, hand-me-down robes and…..and what's  _that_  thing Weaselbee? Your familiar?"

Draco motioned to Hermione with a nod of his head. Behind him, a small group of Slytherins, Pansy among them, snickered.

"Does the ministry know your family's been doing experimental breeding? Let's see, let me guess what it is…..bandy legs, squashed-up face, matted hair…...good God, it's even uglier than a kneazle."

The Slytherin girls behind Draco hooted with mirth. But Harry had heard enough. Leaning over, he spat in Draco's still outstretched hand. "There's your handshake, Malfoy. I guess you know what you can do with it. Come on, Hermione, Ron."

Placing her in the middle, both boys took each side of the small witch as they ascended the stairs. Wiping his palm on his trousers, Draco watched them go, a look of satisfaction spreading across his features.

_Good. They'll protect her now._

Right before she went to bed, Hermione heard a soft hoot outside her window. Cracking it open, she saw a small black owl with a piece of paper in its claw. It hooted softly again and this time, held out its tiny leg. Hermione now understood what it wanted her to do. She took the slip of paper, but not before the owl had given her a tiny nip on her finger. Then it flew away. Carefully unfolding the parchment, she read:

_If I can't be there to keep you safe, what better choice than the Boy-Who-Lived?_

Lying down on her bed, Hermione closed her eyes, a feeling of infinite gratitude overtaking her.  _I have a secret champion_ , was her last conscious thought before drifting off to sleep.

Later that night, for the first time ever, her dreams bridged the gap between existences and entreated Hermione to cross.

**_May, 1942_ **

Hermione looked around at the crowd of servicemen pressing against her. Only here, she wasn't Hermione, she was Gloria; by day, a Rosie the Riveter working in the shipyard, but on the weekends, she doubled as a Junior hostess at the USO canteen. It was her duty to dance with any soldier who asked; in fact, she was not allowed to refuse unless the guy got fresh, which was what the man she was currently dancing with was doing.

"Hey! Keep your paws where they belong, fella, or I'll tell your senior officer and make sure you're assigned KP for a month."

The young man, a sailor by the uniform, grabbed Gloria tighter. "Can you use that mouth for more than smart talk?"

He kissed her then, hard, while Gloria struggled against him. Around them, people began to notice. All of a sudden, Gloria felt herself being freed.

"I don't think the lady was enjoying herself," she heard a voice say in an unmistakably cultured accent. A familiar one.

A tall, handsome young man, a dead ringer for an older Draco, was standing there, giving her prior dance partner a look of contempt. "Take a powder before I change my mind and call one of the MPs over."

The young recruit didn't need to be told twice.

"And give our regards to Yamamoto!" the Draco look-a-like called out as the sailor scurried away. Looking down at Gloria, he grinned. "Maybe we'll be lucky, and he'll be in the next batch shipped out."

Gloria was amazed at whom her rescuer was. "I know you….you're a star. Rick Cavanaugh, right?"

Gloria knew many Hollywood actors visited the USOs as a way of supporting the troops, but this was the first time one had come to theirs.

His silvery eyes glowed. "One of the minor stars. Barely a twinkle, actually. But you have me at a disadvantage. You know my name, but I don't know yours."

Gloria swallowed hard. This gorgeous man wanted to know her name?

Out loud, she said, "I'm Gloria….uh…..from Cleveland?" She wanted to smack herself. Her mind had temporarily gone blank.

_Great, now he's gonna think I'm some dumb broad._

He laughed; it was a deliciously attractive sound. "Well then, Miss Gloria from Cleveland, would you do me the honor of a dance?" Then he winked. "A sure bet for my pride, you see. I happen to know you can't say no."

As they moved to the music, they talked. Rick found out Gloria's last name was Lensing and that she had moved to California to break into showbiz herself. But the war had put a halt to that dream. She discovered he wanted to join the military and become a pilot once filming for his latest movie was complete.

When their dance was through, he asked her, "Please say I may see you again. Soon?"

Her cheeks dimpled. "Soon."

* * *

At breakfast the next morning, the only thing Hermione could think about was her dream. Not the wonder of her new surroundings, not her first day of class learning magic, but the lazy smile and dreamy good looks of a Hollywood hero. It didn't help that across the hall at the Slytherin table, Draco sat where she could see him. He was a perfect, younger version of Rick. Articulate, handsome and with the same dazzling eyes. She wondered what had caused her to have such a vivid dream. Was it the magic in the castle? Or was it something else?

She wanted to share what she'd seen with her secret friend. Hermione found it extremely odd that both of them had seen visions of a past life; Draco's, one of ancient Rome and hers, of the second world war.

It had to mean something. They just had to figure it out.

* * *

It had taken time, but Hermione and Draco eventually came up with effective ways to communicate. They learned where the prime hiding places were in the castle and on the grounds. It had taken a bit of doing to establish a system, but they'd done it.

And a good thing, too, for dreams continued to haunt them both. For the first three years, the flashbacks were random. But in their fourth year, the tenor of the dreams changed. Passion began to fill the images of the night; perhaps in keeping with the change in their own relationship.

For Hermione, they were mostly centered around the growing romance of Gloria and Rick. Indeed, her dreams had taken on the quality of the paperback romance books her mum kept beside the loo or on the bedside table. Dreams where picnics, ravishing kisses and Rick teasingly calling Gloria  _Toots_  were primarily featured. For Draco, the images varied, as did the way they were given. His flashbacks were not contained solely in slumber; sometimes, he had daydreams or visions; some of them poorly timed.

**_December 1782_ **

"Mary! Are you hurt?" an anxious face appeared over Hermione's new form, this time a young woman of around seventeen, her deep corded silk gown ripped from the knees down.

Above her was Charles, the dashing cousin of her best friend Emmaline. Draco, as Charles, was afraid Mary might have injured herself with that fall, but her sudden joviality eased his mind.

"Dear me! What a blunderbuss I am," she chuckled good-naturedly.

"What happened?" Now that the danger was over, Charles was quite curious. His traitorous eyes slipped down in spite of his upbringing to peek a glance at Mary's shapely limbs, but then he chastised himself. Mary was a lady and did not deserve to be treated as a common trollop. He slipped off his coat and chivalrously draped it over her legs.

"Emmaline's beloved Dodo decided to attack my skirts. I told your cousin her dog would have been more aptly named if she'd chosen Beelzebub instead. Now I have proof!"

Charles began to laugh along with Mary. She was  _so_  diverting.

"Care to share with the class what you find so amusing, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco looked up, feeling disoriented. He didn't know what had happened; only that one moment he'd been thinking about next week's Yule Ball and trying to imagine what Hermione would look like in a ball gown, and the next thing he knew, he'd been pulled into another dream or vision of a past life with his witch. Had he really laughed out loud?

Hermione was looking at him with barely concealed worry. Her mask was slipping. Draco knew she had momentarily forgotten they were supposed to be enemies. He would need to do something quick before someone saw her.

"I was thinking about the lesson, Professor," he drawled. They had been going over the theory of turning inanimate objects into animate beings. "I was wondering what would happen if one transfigured a clump of dirt. Would it turn into a groundhog…..or a Granger?"

The Slytherin side of the class erupted into laughter, while from the Gryffindor seats, snarls and insults began to be flung at the blonde.

"SILENCE!" Minerva shouted. "I will  _not_  tolerate this outburst. Mr. Malfoy, I am sorely disappointed in you and will be speaking to your head of house regarding your conduct. Fifty points from Slytherin for disrespecting a fellow student," she said severely.

The snickers eventually died down and class continued. Draco feigned indifference to Minerva's disapproval, but Hermione knew better.

_Why did he do that?_

Later that night, she rushed to the abandoned classroom where he was waiting for her.

"I'm so sorry," he said as gathered her into his arms. Feeling her soft curves as he hugged her was a balm for his miserable day. He buried his face in her fragrant curls. "But your face was showing too much. I was afraid some of the others would see it."

"I...I hadn't realized," she murmured. Rising on her tiptoes, she planted a soft kiss on his cheek. "What happened? Another vision?"

"Yeah. However, I'm glad this one was shown to me instead of you."

"Oh? Why's that?"

Draco's smile was sheepish. "I was wearing a powdered wig."

Hermione began to chuckle.

"Hey! I didn't tell you that so you could make fun of me."

She gently brushed her knuckles against Draco's jaw. He was so handsome. Her heart squeezed painfully at the sheer beauty of his features. As if she could ever make fun of his appearance, whether in this lifetime or another.

"Thought hadn't crossed my mind," she winked.

Draco tried to keep a straight face but couldn't manage it. Breaking out in a reluctant smile, he muttered, "Insufferable witch."

"And all yours," she said as she nuzzled the side of his neck. Hermione loved the way Draco smelled. She always had. Slipping his necktie off, she put it in her pocket with the promise to give it back to him soon.

"But why do you want it?" he asked.

"So I can smell your scent tonight while I sleep. I'll place it under my pillow. It'll give me good dreams."

Draco smiled, secretly touched. Playing with one of her curls, he whispered, "You're adorable."

**_August 1942_ **

"Rick!" Hermione, as Gloria, squealed.

Draco's impish smile covered Rick's face even while his eyes softened. "Is that a yes?" he asked.

Gloria nuzzled the side of his neck, smelling the manly fragrance of aftershave and soap. A smell that now would forever after be hers to enjoy. "It's a yes, Rick."

He kissed her then, long and slow and worshipfully. When they finally came up for air he said, "I made a 95 on the combat aviation exam and got a week's leave on the strength of it. What do you say we go to Palm Springs and get married?"

Gloria sucked in a breath. This was all happening so fast. "I would love to, but…..how? It'll take time getting a marriage license…."

"Not when the head of a studio goes to bat for you." He pulled out an envelope and gave it to her. "Our wedding gift from Mr. Mayer on the condition I come back to MGM once the war is over."

Once again, Gloria squealed as she hugged her soon-to-be husband.

* * *

Their situation had not been easy, but Hermione and Draco had learned to make do until sixth year. That year, the gathering clouds of doom brought a cold dread to their relationship. War was no longer far off; it was right at the door. For Draco, it was in his family's sitting room.

Hermione watched, worry sketched into her pretty features as Draco withdrew more and more within himself. He met with her less. Hermione's heart began to bleed with the ache of his absence. The night before Halloween, she dreamed one last time of Gloria.

**_November 1946_ **

Gloria swallowed a sip of her gin and tonic. Her bleary eyes took in her surroundings. Cheesy Christmas decorations hung from the low ceiling beams of the dingy bar. The lamp overhead was blinking;  _one of the bulbs must be out_ , she thought absently. She was back in Cleveland. In the background, Doris Day's newest hit, Sentimental Journey, was playing.

 _Gonna take a sentimental journey_  
Gonna set my heart at ease  
Gonna make a sentimental journey  
To renew old memories

Except in Gloria's case, old memories couldn't be renewed. She cupped her hand to her mouth to keep a sob from escaping, only to notice her wedding ring. The white gold twinkled from the intermittent flash of the lamp, reminding her of the silvery beauty of her late husband's eyes. She remembered the way they had flashed at seeing her disrobed before he'd made love to her for the first time on their wedding night. The way his expressive eyes would soften when he would say,  _I love you_. The wistful longing in them when he told her goodbye.

_Rick, why did this have to happen?_

She didn't bother to stop the sobs this time.

"Lady, are you okay? Can I call you a cab?" the bartender asked, concerned.

Gloria shook her head. She didn't need a cab.

She'd needed a coffin.

Heavy German artillery shot down three of the planes playing Santa Claus for Uncle Sam, delivering a Christmas payload to Berlin. They had snuffed out the life of the man she'd loved and without knowing it, her life, too.

Stinking Nazis. She hated them. She wished she could take the flag that had been draped over Rick's casket and hang them all with it.

She viciously swallowed a mouthful of the cocktail. Just one sip more and maybe the guilt for feeling hate would go away, too.

Wiping her eyes with her napkin, Gloria took a deep breath. Then she lifted her glass to the light, her unsteady fingers causing the liquid to spill a bit on the bar. How much of this stuff would it take for her to forget what she'd lost?

Rick would tell her not to do it; it was bravery in a bottle; false courage. But that was the only kind she had anymore.

* * *

The next morning when she woke up, Hermione was reeling with residual emotions from her dream. She decided then and there she'd finally had enough. She'd lost the love of her life too many times now. She wasn't going to lose him again. Sending Draco a message on the coins she'd charmed, she told him to meet her that evening in an area of the castle rarely frequented by students.

He was late in arriving; when he did, Hermione wasted no time in pulling him close for a kiss.

"This is not a good idea, love," he murmured against her lips. "I'm being watched more closely than ever."

"What is it Draco? What's happened that you haven't told me?" Now that she had him close, Hermione could see the tiredness in his eyes, the anxious furrow on his brow. Draco was being crushed by a worry far too heavy for his young shoulders.

He sighed. Laying his cheek on the crown of her head, he murmured, "Maybe it was just being away from you. I'll be better now."

Hermione's left brow rose in an unconscious imitation of her boyfriend. "Now I  _know_  something's wrong if that's the best lie you can come up with."

Draco gazed at his witch. He couldn't help but be reminded of how she'd looked on the train when she'd told her first lie to Pansy. She'd been a beautiful, spitting kitten then, but he knew she had grown into a lethal lioness. She would fight for him. He knew that.

Suddenly, his emotions overwhelmed him. He gathered Hermione into his arms and nearly crushed her with the strength of his hug. A choked moan escaped his throat and he began to shake.

Hermione's heart fractured into a million tiny pieces.

Draco was crying.

She began to cry with him while giving soothing touches; rubbing his back: stroking his hair; leaving tender kisses anywhere her lips could reach. After several minutes passed, the storm subsided. Hermione conjured a handkerchief so Draco could blow his nose, then vanished it with an  _evanesco_  once he was done.

"I've been ordered to return to the manor this weekend," he sniffed. He looked at Hermione with sad, tear-stained eyes. They were the eyes of a man awaiting his own execution. "I am expected to take my place at my father's side," his bottom lip starting trembling again, "and join…...and join….."

"And become a death eater," Hermione finished sorrowfully. Draco's face filled with anguish. "My own father wants to see me branded like an animal. I was told if I failed to show, things would go very badly for my mother. What kind of father threatens his son with the life of his mother?"

 _A very evil one_ , thought Hermione. Her mind racing, she clutched at an idea. It would shock others, but the time had come for them to come clean. "Draco, you need to join the Order."

"But my moth…"

"They can protect her. We'll have Professor McGonagall send a letter requiring your mother to come to the school this week."

"Not Professor Dumbledore?"

Hermione looked uncomfortable. "No. He's too intent on the end game. Too willing to sacrifice for the greater good. I want someone who will have a mother's heart. I would say Molly Weasley if she was a teacher, but since she's not, the Professor will do. I'll know she'll want to help you Draco, once we tell her the truth. She'll be able to think of a plausible excuse as to why she's demanding the visit."

"My grades might work….." said Draco, starting to have a sliver of hope.

"While your mum is here, some of the Order can come and spirit her away to a safe house until the war is over."

Draco's eyes slowly began to twinkle with the possibility of Hermione's plan working. She'd not realized how long it had been since she'd seen it. She knew Draco needed a shot of hope. She could give that to him.

"There's a reason I asked you to meet me here," she said softly. "Come with me. I want to show you something." She led Draco to the back corner of the large room. There in the shadows something loomed, large and covered with an old cloth. Hermione reached for the cover and yanked it down, getting dust in their eyes and throat.

"Sorry," she coughed.

"What is this?" asked Draco. He could feel the magical signature pulsing from the mammoth mirror.

"It's the Mirror of Erised. Harry told me about it long ago. It's enchanted to show the individual the deepest desire of their hearts."

"But all I see is us. And us…...and us….and us….." Draco gasped in wonder. Before the mirror was just the two of them….yet what he saw was a reflection of infinite other reflections that appeared to have no beginning or end.

"What does it mean?" He whispered.

Hermione snuggled against him, her back resting against his chest, his arms securely holding her as they gazed into the mirror together. "I think it means there has never been a time when our hearts have not desired the other."

He squeezed her sweet frame as he rubbed his nose against her cheek. "Do you think any of the other versions of us knew about…. _this_?" he nodded with his head at the many incarnations of themselves they were seeing.

"Hard to say. But I don't think so. You're probably the only one who touched the remembrance rune. You know, Haddassah's the one who set this all in motion. She was brilliant."

"You know you're praising yourself when you say that, don't you?" Draco murmured against her ear, a sly smile on his face.

Hermione laughed and declared, "We're going to make it, Draco. I mean it!" she declared when she saw his doubtful expression. "Look at us," she motioned at the mirror. "Do you see all those versions of us? Look at the wealth of experience we've attained. We're not going to be torn away from each other this time."

She turned around in his arms then, a fierce expression on her face. "We're  _not_."

* * *

 **Notes:**  

The name of Rick for one of Draco's incarnations was my nod to one of the most romantic movies of all time,  _Casablanca_ , whose setting was during WWII.

Isoroku Yamamoto was a Japanese Marshal Admiral of the Navy and the commander-in-chief of the Combined Fleet during World War II until his assassination in 1943.

I enjoyed writing the WWII parts. That was when my parents came of age. My father was in the Navy and stationed at Pearl Harbor.


	4. Chapter 4

 

Draco would never forget the look on Professor McGonagall's face when she opened the door to see him and Hermione standing in front of her, their hands tightly clasped. Her eyes traveled downward where they stopped at their joined hands, as if unbelieving of what she was seeing; then she looked up.

"Come in," was all she said as she opened wide the door to her chambers. Once they were seated on her couch, she asked, a bit of asperity returning to her tone, "Would you two care to explain….. _this_?" she motioned at their hand-holding.

So they did. Draco had only wanted to share the danger his mother was in. But of course, Hermione had to tell her favorite professor everything. Draco was hard put not to laugh at Minerva's expression. Her eyebrows rose when Hermione told her the truth of their relationship; when she went on to tell her how long they'd kept it a secret, they threatened to disappear into her hairline.

"All this time? You two have been secretly meeting all these years?"

Hermione nodded.

"And the…. _disagreements_ ," she eyed Draco when she said that, "they were a ruse to keep others from finding out about your friendship?"

"They were," he confirmed.

Minerva sat back, clearly astounded. She looked at Draco. "So you've been acting a part….." she trailed off. She shook her head in wonder. "I always knew your proclivity for dramatics, Mr. Malfoy; but this, as the muggles say, takes the cake!"

"There's more, Professor."

Minerva's eyes widened slightly as she turned to her favorite student, almost as if afraid of what she'd hear.

"Go on," she said warily.

Hermione began to tell her about their visions and dreams of past lives. She told her what they'd seen in the Mirror of Erised.

When she was through, Minerva sat unmoving; then she took a deep breath. "I can only surmise there's a reason why you're telling me this now."

"There is." Hermione looked at Draco; he swallowed uncomfortably against the sudden lump in his throat.

"My father…...he has ordered me to return home this weekend." He lifted his eyes to look at the professor. "He expects me to join the Dark Lord."

Minerva made no sound other than a soft intake of breath. "He expects you to become one of them."

Draco nodded. " And he has impressed on me the fact that my mother will be the one to pay for my disobedience if I refuse to comply with his wishes."

Hermione jumped in. "Professor, Draco and I know we can't hide anymore. He's prepared to join the Order in exchange for them safeguarding his mother until the war is over." Her eyes became pleading. "You'll help us, won't you?"

Minerva's wrinkled face softened. It was the first time Draco had ever seen such an expression on the older witch. "I'll do what I can, even without Mr. Malfoy's pledge. What did you have in mind?"

Hermione shared her idea of how they could get Narcissa to the school.

"This may be the first time I've had cause to rejoice in a student's poor grades. Very well, then. I'll owl Mrs. Malfoy a letter once we're done."

Draco and Hermione rose to stand. Right before they left, Minerva asked, "Miss Granger…...you are aware you'll have to tell Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley the truth of your relationship?"

Hermione cringed. Draco knew she was dreading that conversation. "Yes, Professor."

Minerva smirked and actually had the nerve to chuckle. "I have no doubt that will be an interesting conversation. Good night."

 _Why that old tabby,_ Draco thought.

She was enjoying this too much.

* * *

The talk with Ron and Harry went just about as Hermione had expected; that is to say, not very well at all. When she and Draco first walked in together where she'd told the boys she'd meet them, Ron jumped to his feet and shouted, "What's  _he_  doing here?"

Draco sighed. He never understood what Hermione had seen in Ron as a friend, but he knew their purpose would not be served by him making snide comments. Besides, both he and Hermione knew who the true leader was in the duo's friendship. Where Potter went, Weasley followed.

Hermione pleaded with them to hear her out; surprisingly, they did. But when she got to the part about their shared dreams, Harry's jaw tensed. He'd not yet said a word, but his vivid green eyes blazed with betrayal. It was as obvious as the scar on his forehead what he was thinking. He wasn't buying it.

"Hermione, I think I know better than anyone what can happen from gullibly believing a vision."

She knew he was talking about the false one Voldemort planted in his mind about Sirius.

However, Draco didn't. "What are you saying?"

It was Harry's turn to rise. Pointing his finger, he accused, "I think the dreams Hermione saw were false. I think  _you_  put them there."

Draco's mouth gaped open. "Are you mad? How would I have done that?"

"You're a legilimens, aren't you?"

"Harry, be reasonable," Hermione huffed. "Draco is an accomplished wizard, but he doesn't have that level of skill. Few do."

He wasn't about to give in so easily. "Yeah, well…... maybe his master taught him how."

She rolled her eyes at his stubbornness and sighed. "Then how do you explain our seeing the other before we ever came to Hogwarts?"

Harry's face blanked. "You….saw each other? Like in a dream?"

Both Draco and Hermione nodded as they reached for each other's hand. "Something like that," she confirmed. She wasn't about to go into Draco's visions or her conversations with a portrait. That was a discussion for another time.

"Blimey…...that….well, I guess that changes everything," Ron said. He gave Harry an uneasy look. "Don't you reckon?"

Harry remained silent. He gave Draco a look that pierced the blonde to the bone. "It changes everything, all right; mostly for you, Malfoy. When your house finds out, I doubt you'll remain their Slytherin Prince for long."

Hermione bit her bottom lip, worried. Still, she hoped. "Surely, they won't all turn on you?" she asked her boyfriend.

Draco gritted his teeth and looked away. He knew better than that. "Don't hold your breath. To them, I'll be a blood traitor."

**April 1862**

"Captain Scott, forgive my impertinence, Sir….but are you  _drunk_?" The sergeant, a man far older than his captain, asked the question with understandable incredulity. It wasn't often one heard their senior officer say they were preparing to seek asylum with the enemy.

"I assure you I have reached this decision after much sober reflection. But my conscience dictates my actions. I see no other course for me but to follow through." Draco, as Captain Scott, spoke with conviction. And with a soft Southern drawl.

"It isn't that young filly that's behind this decision, is it? The one you met in Baltimore. She was an abolitionist, wasn't she? Surely, a pretty face isn't causing you to renounce your duty to your country."

Captain Scott looked insulted. "My country? It's my country we're tearing asunder. See reason, man. Our cause is unjust. I can no longer support a secession from the United States or the principles that would condone brutality against a fellow human." Seeing Smith about to object, he added, "They  _are_  humans. The Negro. What we're doing is deplorable."

"What we're doing is fighting for states' rights. Do you want to give that away to Washington? You know that's what propels the actions of the men there. Power is what they care about; not the black man. Lincoln is a pious, old humbug. He craves control just as much as any other despot. You want to surrender to that?"

"I want to sleep easily at night. Our side is wrong, Smith. The blessing of the Almighty cannot be on our endeavors. We will ultimately fail."

Smith's face twisted into a sneer. The hard-shelled southerner had heard enough. "Go on, then. Follow your conscience…. _Traitor_."

When Draco woke up he was tangled in his sheets, his body damp from sweat. It would seem he'd gone down a similar path before. And was about to reap the same results.

He became an outcast. A turncoat. A  _target_. Hermione found him one evening in a deserted corridor. Draco had been badly beaten; blood was pooled underneath his head. His eyes were purple slits and his broken nose was bloodied and swollen. She cried out in horror, and in a panic, fired off patronuses to Harry, Madame Pomfrey  _and_  Severus Snape. The professor got there first; he took one look at the grief-stricken girl; his face softened. With an uncharacteristic gentleness, he moved Hermione aside and began to work on Draco, casting a diagnostic spell while stopping the blood flow. A moment or two later, Poppy and Harry arrived.

Harry took one look and blanched. Someone, or perhaps many someones had shown Draco no mercy. The beating had been brutal.

"His skull is fractured as are most of his ribs. His left lung was punctured, but I've healed it," Severus murmured to Madame Pomfrey.

She uttered a soft sound of sympathy as she gently levitated Draco's body to carry to the infirmary.

Snape turned to Hermione. "Were you with him when this happened? Do you know who did this this?"

She shook her head, tears still steaming down her cheeks. "No Sir. I was going….." she paused. She'd been on her way to meet Draco, but should she say that? She didn't know how much she could tell the head of Slytherin. Would him knowing the truth make things worse for Draco?

He must have known what she was thinking. Placing his hand on her shoulder, he assured her, "The more I know, the better I can protect him."

So she told him. Not everything, but enough for him to understand the depth of their feelings.

Snape sighed, momentarily lost in a memory. Then he looked up and for the first time acknowledged Harry's presence.

"I know it may have escaped your notice, Mr. Potter, but there are others who are suffering far more under the Dark Lord's hand than  _you_. Yet these will never receive the amount of sympathy given to Hogwarts resident celebrity. Now I know you've been busy being the headmaster's pet, but it might behoove you to look after those who may, in the near future, be all that keeps you from an unsavory and painful end. This won't be the last time an attempt on Draco's life is made. You and your dunderheaded oaf of a friend might be better employed protecting him than you are sneaking out at night in your father's cloak. If for no other reason, you should do it for Miss Granger."

Then Snape, after giving Hermione a curt nod, turned, and with his robes billowing, began to make his way up the stairs to the infirmary.

"Wait, Professor!" Hermione called out. He turned around. "May I accompany you?"

He gave his head a quick bob. Hermione scurried to join him.

Harry watched them both leave, resentment coloring his features. Snape was a colossal prick of a professor. He hated him. He  _did_.

But at that moment, he kind of hated himself, too.

* * *

Harry and Ron tried; really they did. But despite having two fierce lions as bodyguards, Hogwarts had become too dangerous for Draco to remain. It was discovered Lucius had been the one who had ordered the beating. He'd been enraged when Draco outmaneuvered him by taking his queen. Narcissa was now safely tucked away at an undisclosed location.

When Draco found out his father had been behind the attack, he skipped a class. Hermione found him later in the prefects bathroom heaving up the remains of lunch, his hands trembling from anger and grief. She soothed him quietly, but inside, an inferno of rage began to burn at the man who'd chosen a psychopath over his son.

Theories were tossed about as to whom his assailants had been. Draco was no help; due to the concussion he'd suffered, he had no memory of the event. Hermione was thankful for that. The beating had been vicious; savage. Madame Pomfrey whispered to Minerva that it had looked like the work of sadists.

So in the end, after the Christmas holidays, Draco was taken to the same safe house where his mother was being housed. Hermione missed him horribly, but Minerva allowed her to visit on Hogsmeade weekends. Whenever she was there, Narcissa kept herself in the background to allow her son to have time alone with his witch. But from her distance, she would watch. She would see Draco come alive whenever Hermione was present. When he would take her in his arms and kiss her, Narcissa's heart would ache; both in wonder and wistfulness at the display of a true and deep love.

_So that's what it looks like._

She tried not to be envious. But it was hard.

* * *

The end of the school year brought with it the end of the old headmaster. The security of Hogwarts had been breached. The ministry would be next.

War had arrived.

* * *

_Many months later_

Draco zipped up the muggle coat as high as it would go. He wanted to cast a warming charm, but it was too risky now that Hermione had taken down the wards. They had packed up the tent to make ready to go to Shell Cottage for a couple of days. Maybe Bill could help them determine the location of the next horcrux. They'd run out of ideas. Outside of the four of them, the oldest Weasley brother was the only one who knew of their task. But that wasn't the only reason they were going for a visit; they all needed a break. That blasted locket had wreaked havoc on them all. Draco looked forward to seeing his mother. They all looked forward to Molly's cooking and having a proper bathroom to use.

When they arrived, they were met by Order members. They seemed shocked to see the golden trio with their plus one.

Arthur Weasley held his wand steadily in front of Harry. "When and why did I carry you to the ministry?"

"It was for my disciplinary hearing before the start of my fifth year at Hogwarts. I'd performed a patronus charm in front of my cousin because dementors had attacked us. Right before I entered the chambers, you told me I'd done nothing wrong and that the truth would out."

Arthur nodded at Remus and lowered his wand. "Sorry, Harry, but we had to know for sure it was you."

"I would think you'd know your own son," Ron grumbled behind Harry.

The door to the cottage opened and Molly and Narcissa rushed out. Molly embraced Ron immediately while Narcissa went to Draco.

"My Dragon," she murmured as she held him close. She immediately noticed a difference. He'd changed. During his absence, he'd grown up. Draco's body had hardened; his arms bespoke the strength of a man. His hair was longer, his face held a scruffy beard; he smelled of woodsmoke and clothes that had seen too much wear and not enough washes. But there was another change in him that didn't have anything to do with appearances. Something felt different with his magic. Narcissa could sense it. It was if his magical force had shifted. She sucked in a breath, divining with a mother's intuition what it was. Draco's magic had combined with another's. She looked at Hermione.

_They've become intimate._

Narcissa frowned. Malfoys traditionally waited for marriage to have intercourse with their intended, but apparently, Draco had rejected  _all_  pureblood beliefs. She didn't like it, but he was her son. She'd lost her husband. Narcissa was not going to lose Draco as well.

Hermione began to move away to give them some privacy, but Narcissa stopped her.

"I want a hug from my daughter, too," she declared, immediately letting Draco know where she stood on the matter.

Hermione needed no further encouragement. She gave the older witch a tight squeeze. For all she knew, Draco's mother might end up being the only parent she would have.

"Will you be staying long?" Narcissa asked them.

Draco shook his head. "Two, three days at the most. I'm sorry, Mother."

Narcissa put aside her disappointment. "Well…...we will make the most of the time we have, then. You…..you haven't happened to have heard any news about your father, have you?"

Draco knew what she was really asking was whether he was still alive. Considering whom Lucius served, it was a valid question. Still, Draco couldn't pretend to care. For him, his father died some time ago. His face hardening, he said, "No."

She nodded and said no more. Perhaps some subjects were better left in the past.

* * *

Draco tossed and turned. He couldn't get comfortable in the narrow twin bed. Over the past months, he'd grown used to sleeping with Hermione. Her warm body next to his, the soothing scent of her hair. The steady rhythm of her breaths. He missed his witch. Rising from his bed, he left Harry sleeping in the bed next to his and went down the hall to Hermione's room. Opening the door, he crept in, careful to be quiet in case she was asleep. But he needn't have bothered.

"Draco," he heard from the dark surrounding him. Squinting his eyes, he finally saw where she was. She was holding out her hand, beckoning for him to join her. He stumbled forward, accidentally stubbing his toe on the corner of the bed.

Hermione snickered. It wasn't often Draco was clumsy.

"Come here, husband," she whispered.

They'd not told anyone, although she suspected Harry might have figured it out. But while they'd been out searching for horcruxes, she and Draco had bonded. It had not been planned; Draco had gotten the idea after seeing the old stones by the river where they'd made camp.

When he approached her with it, she balked.

"We're too young," she'd objected when he asked her.

"We are," he calmly agreed. "But it's not like we don't know how we'll end up. So why wait?"

She spluttered. "Well, well…...because…."

He interrupted her. "And also…...if we were married, you would be better protected. There are ancient spells that are activated whenever a Malfoy takes a bride. Familial charms would extend to you. Please love. Give me that peace of mind."

In the end, Hermione acquiesced. Her modern sensibilities were no match against the pull of an immortal love.

Later that night, when it was their turn to keep watch, they walked down to the river's edge to perform the ritual as the moon reached its zenith. Inside the circle of stones, they spoke the timeless vows of love and commitment. When it was Ron's turn to keep guard, they disappeared into Hermione's quarters to consummate the union. Draco cast a silencing spell and warded the room. He didn't want them to be heard or interrupted.

When he was through, he turned to look at his bride. The bluebell flames in jars around her bed cast an unearthly glow on Hermione's skin. In spite of her muggle clothing, she looked like a winter faerie. He reached out with a trembling hand to cup her cheek; she immediately closed the gap to wrap her arms around his slim waist.

Draco buried his face in her abundant curls, overcome with a need that was bordering on becoming painful. He'd dreamt of this moment for so long; he'd wanted her for as long as he could remember. Now that it was here, he didn't want to rush the experience; he wanted to savor every second.

Laying Hermione atop the bed, he began to slowly strip her clothing from her, giving homage to every lush curve, marveling in the smoothness of her satin skin. Draco's breath caught; she was more lovely than he'd imagined. He quickly shed his own clothes, needing to feel her skin touching his. A strangled groan escaped him when he lowered his body over hers; Hermione felt delectable. Draco feared he wouldn't last. He kissed her hard and deep, his blood rushing south when her body began to writhe under his ministrations. Her hands never stilled, but ran over his back, his buttocks, through his hair and down to his shoulders where she held on for dear life when he shifted lower on her body.

The sensations Draco was creating were leaving Hermione breathless. Strange moans and groans were being ripped from her; sounds so foreign she hardly recognized them as her own.

"Draco, Draco…... _oh, Draco_ …"

He was everywhere…..kissing her. Whispering how much he loved her…. _needed_  her. And his touch. His hands and mouth moved in unison and with the same purpose. Lifting her to heights she'd never imagined. They never stopped, but continued on, flicking here, rubbing there, creating a magic that was leaving her spinning, helpless to stop. His fingers' gentle exploration in mapping her body was simultaneously burning her up and giving her chills. His lips and tongue left trails of fire. When he began plumbing her depths, she gasped, overwhelmed with sensations. He was bringing her closer….closer.

At the last moment he rose to fill her with himself. Hermione moaned loudly, the delirious pleasure of him within her almost too much to bear.

Then he began to move.

She suddenly cried out, waves of ecstasy pulsing from her center. She was barely aware of Draco groaning.

"Gods…..," he moaned. He started rocking her powerfully, no longer worried about being gentle. Hermione held on blindly, unable to articulate anything other than her husband's name or the words  _I love you._

When Draco hit a particularly sensitive spot, the initial wave that had been simmering in Hermione began once more to boil. Within her, a throbbing heat sped up its rhythm. Her heart was racing; her breaths came out in pants. A moment or two later, the next wave crested and hit her hard. The strength of it overwhelmed Draco and pulled him under with her. Surrendering to its force, he gasped her name.

" _Hermione_ ," he groaned.

Underneath him, Hermione arched her back and tightened her hold on his hips to make the moment last as long as possible. When it was over, she gave him a final squeeze. She giggled against his shoulder when he let out a strangled  _ugnhh_ before totally collapsing on her.

"I love you. I love…..gods, I can't even describe how much I love you," he confessed, entirely spent and wonderfully satisfied. Then he sought her lips and captured them for a slow, heartfelt kiss before rolling off her body to lie on his back.

"I love you, too," she murmured while leaving a trail of kisses along her young husband's jaw. "You were…...you were  _incredible."_

Draco's eyes were closed, but that didn't keep his mouth from forming into a familiar smirk. Hermione laughed at the sight. She knew he was quite pleased with himself.

"So tell me," she prodded before a yawn escaped her, "how were you so  _good_  at that?" She yawned again. Goodness, he had quite worn her out. "I know that was your first time, same as me."

Draco yawned, too; then he leaned over to lovingly rub his nose with hers. Just one of the many things Hermione adored about him. Draco was so affectionate. Then he plopped back down on his pillow.

"The first time in  _this_  body, perhaps. But definitely not my first time. Not  _our_  first time. We've loved each other for millennia; I would hope we would have learned  _something_  by now."

No response.

"Don't you agree?"

Still nothing.

Draco rose up on one elbow. "Love?"

"Mmm…..sum-um…." Hermione mumbled, half-asleep.

Draco smiled, totally smitten by the beautiful sight of a naked Hermione asleep beside him. Placing a kiss on her forehead, he pulled up the bed covers, making sure she was tucked in before joining her in a well-deserved slumber.

* * *

When he woke up the next morning, Draco couldn't remember where he was at first. Then he felt Hermione shift beside him and he remembered. Smiling lazily, he tucked her more securely against his body, making sure his arm was supporting her head. Closing his eyes, he snuggled close, hoping to sleep for a few more minutes. But his mind had other ideas. Last night's dream seemed to be on automatic repeat. He groaned, trying to block out the images, even though something in him urged him to pay attention. That it was important. Draco ignored it.

He eventually drifted off.

When he awoke for the second time, Hermione was no longer beside him. He heard her voice coming from somewhere downstairs. He yawned and stretched and hoped that Fleur had made something good for breakfast. He was famished. Just as he was about to get up to put on some clothes, memories of the dream came back to him. A bit of it, anyway. He recalled the vividness of it; the feeling of happiness. But he struggled with the rest. Now, all he could recall were the colors from the dream; vivid hues of purples, blues and green. Everything else was a hodge-podge.

He didn't know his inability to remember was because it hadn't happened yet. For the first time, he'd dreamt of his future.

And that future was still uncertain.

* * *

_Three weeks later_

Draco wanted to kill Harry. How could he have been so careless? How could he have forgotten Voldemort's name was taboo? But there was nothing for it now. Snatchers had come, two dozen of them. They'd been no match against that many. They'd confiscated their wands and were now taking them to the worst place possible.

His childhood home.

Inside the drawing room at Malfoy Manor, his father and Bellatrix waited. When she saw her nephew was among the captured, Bellatrix cackled with glee.

"Look what we have here. A proper fishy amongst the minnows!"

One of the snatchers took offense. "Now, I wouldn't call these others minnows. This 'ere lad might be 'arry Potter."

"Doesn't look like Potter to me," Bella sniffed. Indeed it wouldn't, as Hermione's stinging hex had done its job of distorting Harry's face.

The snatcher, however, was not going to give up his possible prize. "But the chit 'ere called 'em 'arry. I 'eard 'er, I did!"

"Enough." Lucius spoke for the first time. "We'll deal with that later." His eyes bore into his son's. "So the prodigal returns home."

"Not by my choice," Draco spat out.

Lucius eyes glittered with fury, yet his voice remained measured when he replied, "I'm willing to overlook that. Now that you're here, we have unfinished business to attend. As I recall, the last time we communicated, I told you to come home to receive your mark. Although it's doubtful the Dark Lord will still be willing, for the sake of our family's honor, we must try. Perhaps you'll be lucky, Son. He might be in a forgiving mood."

A snatcher behind them muttered, "I doubt that," but Lucius didn't hear him.

Bellatrix began to laugh. "Wee baby Draco's about to become a man! Although he doesn't deserve the honor."

"No. He doesn't," Lucius agreed.

Hermione struggled desperately against the ropes holding her. "No! You can't do that!" she shouted.

"Quiet, Filth!" Bellatrix hissed, but Hermione's cry caught Lucius' attention. He stared at the muggleborn he'd initially ignored. He frowned, a worry niggling at his mind. There seemed something familiar about the girl…...something... _recognizable…_

It was magic. More to the point, his family's magic. It was surrounding her.  _Claiming_  her.

Grinding his teeth in rage, he turned to Draco. "What have you  _done_? Did you  _marry_ this mudblood?"

Bellatrix made a face as if sickened by the thought; Ron looked surprised. But Harry's gaze told Hermione he'd known.

"Let's go ahead and mark him," Bellatrix stated. "Maybe it'll cancel their bond. Then we'll take care of her later."

"No," said Lucius, the gleam in his eyes betraying the diabolical intent of his thoughts. "Bring the new  _Mrs. Malfoy_  to me," he sneered.

 _No!_  Draco's mind screamed. He knew what his father was capable of; what he intended to do. He was going to have Hermione tortured, then killed. To teach him a lesson.

Just like before.

"A proper wife knows her duty to her husband," Lucius said as Hermione was thrusted toward him by two of the snatchers. "Perhaps  _you_  can help us in convincing my son of the error of his way."

"Leave her alone! I'll…..I'll take the mark….just let her go!" Draco begged.

" _No_ , Draco!"

"Hush, girl," the snatcher holding Hermione hissed.

Lucius gave his son a cold look. It was the stare of a callused hunter gazing at a baby seal before clubbing it to death.

"Too late for that, I'm afraid, Son." Turning to his sister-in-law, he asked, "Bella, would you care to do the honors?"

His bastard of a father was giving his wife to the most sadistic member of the Dark Lord's army.

"Oh goody," Bella chuckled, "A new dolly to play with. Let's see how she holds up to pain." With an unholy glee, she shouted, " _Crucio_!"

Hermione's body buckled; her screams echoed off the walls.

Unaware of his own actions, Draco was screaming, too, his tears falling from his eyes, making a trail down his face.

"Aw….look. Baby Dwayco is cwying, Daddy," Bellatrix mocked.

Disgust rolled off Lucius. "Cissa's coddling ruined him. He's weak and needs to find out what it means to be a man."

Bella grinned at her nephew, her rotted teeth showing gruesomely. "Maybe what he needs is a reminder of what this filth really is. Shall I show him?"

Lucius nodded for Bellatrix to continue. "Please do."

She eagerly whipped out her dagger.

Seeing her blade, Lucius drew out his own. "No, take mine. A Lestrange dagger will be useless. Now that she's a  _Malfoy,_ " he drawled sarcastically, "Only a family blade will work against her."

Bella reached out and took the knife, giggling as she did so. "I could cut your pretty neck and show my nephew your muddy blood by making a great  _big_  puddle...….but where would the fun be in that? The show would be over too soon. Hmmm, I think I know what I can do." Turning to the snatchers she said, "Leave us. This is a family matter. But once I'm done, you can have her," she added, nodding to Greyback. Turning back to the young witch, she cast a sticking charm, securing Hermione to the floor.

Draco realized what she was about to do right before the knife sliced through the tender skin on Hermione's forearm. Hermione wailed, her pitiful cries piercing his heart and sending him one last time into a vision.

**A.D. 65**

_Remember!_  Hadassah's eyes implored. Claudius cried out in anguish when the lion ripped the tender flesh from his true love's arm, leaving only the bone and mangled pieces of muscle. Her blood spurted out in violent arcs, enticing the starving beast into a feeding frenzy. Claudius turned then, unable to watch the cat finish her off.

_Remember….remember….remember…_

Draco came back to the present just in time to see Bellatrix carving a letter into Hermione's skin. Her bright red blood gushed down her arm onto the carpet. He was dimly aware of Harry and Ron's yells, but heard it clearly when his father laughed.

The sound of his father's amusement at Hermione's suffering pushed Draco to his breaking point. His magic started to swirl dangerously. He was beginning to lose control. The walls around the room began to pulse; a second later, the windows blew out. Lucius and Bellatrix jumped at the sound, but they were too late.

 _AVADA KEDAVRA!_ Draco thought, his mind blazing with a hate so fierce it was a wonder he didn't spontaneously combust.

He didn't know if an unforgivable could be wandlessly and wordlessly cast, but at that moment, he was beyond analyzing his actions. Jungle instincts had taken over. His wife's life was in jeopardy.

He would not lose her again.

A glint of green momentarily flashed in Lucius and Bellatrix's eyes; then they toppled to the floor, dead.

Draco immediately ran over to Hermione and gently lifted her into his arms. Her skin was icy and pale except where her blood had bloomed like a painted flower over her arm.

Not willing to wait for Harry or Ron, he yelled, "Shell Cottage!" before he disapparated away with his wife.

When he landed outside the seaside home, Draco collapsed on the sand. It didn't occur to him that he'd just killed his father. All he could think of was one profound truth; in his and Hermione's long tragedy of love, one of them had finally been able to save the other's life.

The endless cycle of grief had been broken.

They were free.

* * *

_Four years later_

Draco put the finishing touches on the table. He didn't have much use for most of his upbringing, but a well-appointed table was something he always enjoyed. Hermione teased him and said he only felt that way whenever Narcissa was coming to share a meal with them, but he didn't care.

 _Whatever. She'll like the flowers,_  he thought smugly. He knew his wife; peonies and cabbage roses were Hermione's favorite.

It had been four years since the defeat of Voldemort. They always celebrated the anniversary in some fashion. Tonight, they were having family and friends over for a meal. Hermione was busy with her internship at St. Mungo's, so Draco offered to cook. He did a fair bit of it as it was. His duties over the Malfoy estate left him with a lot of free time. Hermione had been the one who suggested he learn to draw. Draco found he had a natural talent for sketching; he took to it like a duck to water. Before long, he moved to painting. Watercolors, oils….he did it all. He kept at it. After a couple of years, he became quite accomplished. Some of his work was exceptional. He sold a few, but the nude he'd done of his wife he kept for himself.

Just as he pulled the roasted chickens from the oven, the floo chimes rang. It was his mother, a wine bottle in each hand.

"Hello, Darling," she cooed as she kissed his cheek. "Am I the first to arrive?"

She had been, but soon the others followed. Harry, Ginny and the rest of the Weasley family; Andromeda and little Teddy, and lastly, Minerva, who was a bit late due to a first year being partly transfigured into a quaffle by his mischievous older brother, a fifth year.

'I'm happy to know there are others at the school who will carry on my and Fred's noble traditions," said George as he held up his wine glass. "Bravo to the older brother. I have many fond memories of us performing similar spells on our younger siblings….isn't that right, Ronniekins?"

"Of that, I have no doubt," Minerva muttered, remembering the many antics of the incorrigible twins.

As everyone settled down to the excellent dinner Draco prepared, Hermione clinked her wine glass with her knife. "I have an announcement to make."

Ron grinned. "Let me guess. You've got a little ferret bun in the oven?"

Hermione blushed. "Shush, Ron…..you're as bad as George. And no, that's not what I was going to say." She wasn't going to explain that she and Draco had recently decided to wait a bit longer. After all, they were still young. And she still had her internship to finish. There was no need to rush.

"What is it then, dear?" Narcissa asked.

Hermione took Draco's hand, twining her fingers with his. "Well, you all know what a gossip hive St. Mungo's is…...so, today I heard through the grapevine that the board has reached a decision on the art they want for the new wing of the hospital."

Everyone nodded. It had been in the papers. The hospital was making a big to-do on the upcoming opening of the new Phoenix wing.

She turned and looked at Draco. "They've chosen your painting to be the centerpiece."

Cheers of congratulations erupted from around the table.

Hermione kissed Draco tenderly, uncaring of the many eyes watching.

"I'm so proud of you," she whispered.

"Hold on a sec," said Ginny. "Exactly  _which_  painting are we talking about?"

"Bet I can guess…...it's the one of the witch from ancient Rome, isn't it?" asked Harry.

Ginny frowned, puzzled. "Which one?"

Ron piped up. "Oh, you remember….the one of the girl who looks like Hermione." He smirked at Draco. "That was smart, mate. 'Mione can't accuse you of fantasizing about other women when you paint them all to look like her."

Draco winked at at his wife. Only the two of them knew who the slave girl really was. He'd painted it to immortalize Hadassah. Without her quick thinking in creating the remembrance rune, he and Hermione would have been doomed forever to an eternity of loving and losing.

Hermione spoke up. "Harry, you're right. The board thought the painting of the slave girl practicing her healing arts was the best representative of magical healing throughout time." She looked at her husband then, her eyes shining in pride. "I got you something….I'd intended it to be for your birthday, but maybe you'd like it now. Just to celebrate, you know."

"Should we leave? Or is this  _something_  fit for all of us to see?" teased Ginny. "There  _are_  young eyes present," she nodded at Teddy.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Honestly, Gin, you're incorrigible. This isn't  _that_  kind of present."

"A pity," Draco said for Ginny's benefit. The redhead snickered.

Ignoring them both, Hermione pulled her wand out of her pocket. Pointing it at a large empty space on their bookcase, she whispered, " _Revelio_." A large rectangular object, filled with water and various magical fish appeared.

"What is it, dear?" asked Molly.

" It's an aquarium," Hermione answered. She looked at Draco. "You used to talk about the Slytherin rooms and how you enjoyed looking out and seeing the fish and mermaids swim by. I thought this might remind you of it."

"You didn't stock it with grindylows, did you?" teased Harry.

Draco looked at the colorful display of blue and purple shells with green grasses waving above them. He thought it a pretty home for the tropical fish swimming merrily. Then with a sudden shock, an image came racing back into his brain. A recollection of a dream he'd had years before. A dream of the future where all he could remember were the colors; vivid hues of purples, blues and green. He'd felt it an important dream then, and now he understood why.

He'd dreamt of their happily ever after.

* * *

 

THE END


	5. Bonus chapter

**Bonus Chapter**

_Three years later_

Draco heard the soft, wet sound of splashing as he made his way up the stairs to his and Hermione's bedroom. The bathroom door was partially open, letting the sound escape. He peeked in and grinned at the sight. His wife was reclining in their large tub, the steam from the water making her hair spiral wildly. Draco thought her curls adorable. But he thought most things about his wife were. Her smile, her soulful brown eyes, her laugh…...but now especially her belly, which was protruding out of the water like a miniature island. He eyed her body hungrily. Hermione had always been lovely to him, at every age and lifetime, but this was the first time she'd ever become ripe with a child. Seeing her that way did things to him. It made him ache with want. His breath caught at the arousing sight. His wife's stomach beautifully rounded, proudly carrying his seed. Her breasts, full and lush and tantalizing. Perfect for a mouth to latch onto. For now, his. But soon, their son's. Her legs, still lean, stretched out in front of her. He thought of the many times those shapely legs had wrapped around his hips.

Draco felt himself getting hard. His wife was too good to be true.

 _Can such perfection really be meant for me?_  he wondered for at least the thousandth time.

His body and soul would never tire of yearning for the woman he proudly called his.

Opening the door wide, he asked, "Care for some company?"

Hermione opened her eyes to the sound of her beloved husband's voice. She smiled lazily and beckoned with a sudsy finger.

"Come join me, love."

Draco needed no further prompting. He quickly began to discard his clothes. Hermione chuckled at his impatience and at the obvious evidence of his desire.

"Eager much?"

He paid her no mind, but slipped in behind her, wincing as he did so.

"Ow….This water is scalding me, witch!"

Hermione giggled. "Men are such wussies when it comes to a bit of heat."

Huffing, Draco stretched out his legs to rest on either side of her hips while pulling her bum against him. He encouraged her to rest her head against his chest, his arms holding her close, although he was careful not to put too much pressure on the precious bundle inside her.

"No we're not. We just prefer our skin intact and not half-melted."

"As I said," she turned her head around and gave him an impish grin. "Wussies."

Ignoring her teasing, Draco decided to give her mouth something to do other than poking fun at his gender. He kissed her slowly, savoring the feel and taste of her lips and the soft caress of her tongue. Pregnancy had changed Hermione's scent and flavor. It was now even more enticing than before. He groaned, completely turned on by how sensuous Hermione looked and felt and tasted.

She turned her body around to better reach his face, and as she did, her stomach pushed against his thigh. Draco felt a punch. Then another.

"My own son is jealous of me," he muttered against her lips. "He doesn't want Mummy's attention on anyone but him."

"Well, he  _is_ a Malfoy. Your mother told me you never liked to share, either."

"That may be. However, for Scorpius, it will be different. He'll have me, too."

Hearing that, Hermione gave Draco an extra passionate nip on his bottom lip. She knew what he was saying. Of course, he'd been jealous of his mother's attentions. He'd only had one parent to show him love. But Scorpius would have two. Hermione felt her heart swelling with pride. Draco was going to be such a good father. He would be everything his own father had failed to be.

So caught up in her thoughts, she'd not realized Draco had been talking until he loudly cleared his throat.

"Ahem _..._ as I was saying, I'd rather his  _mother_  have me now." Draco wiggled his eyebrows theatrically. "So…..how 'bout it, Toots?"

Hermione laughed at the old-fashioned endearment that had been a favorite of Draco's in a previous lifetime. Taking that as a positive sign, he began to pepper her face with feather-light kisses. Then he stopped and cradled her cheeks lovingly. Adoringly.

" _Please_. I want you so much."

Hermione blissfully sighed. How could she say no in the face of such devotion? Not that she wanted to, mind you.

"Sounds like heaven."

Thirty minutes later, Hermione lay atop her bed, naked. Next to her was her husband, equally naked and sprawled out in apparent exhaustion. She felt boneless and sweaty and utterly content.

It  _had_  been heaven.

And she'd never felt so worshipped.

* * *

After they'd both managed to crawl under the covers, they'd taken a little nap. They woke up hungry. Outside, darkness had fallen.

"Pippen came by before you got home," Hermione said, then yawned. Next to her Draco stretched, popping his back.

"Did he leave some food?" he inquired. "I hope so. I don't think either of us are up to cooking tonight."

Hermione chuckled. "You know he did. He loves to spoil us."

Narcissa's most devoted elf had a soft spot for his young mistress. When he'd found out Hermione was pregnant, he'd taken it upon himself to keep her well-stocked with homemade treats. After all, she carried within her the future of the family he loved.

"What did he bring this time?" Draco asked as he reached for his trousers.

"I might have asked him for my favorite again," Hermione admitted, blushing.

Draco smiled indulgently. For the past two months, he'd been treated to more dinners of Lancashire Hotpot than he'd ever had before in his entire life, but Hermione craved it. Slow-cooked lamb, potatoes and onions seemed to be what their baby wanted.

After they'd eaten their meal, Draco cast the cleaning spells that brought the kitchen to life. Food flew into containers that shuffled to the larder. Mops danced across the floor; dishes and utensils jumped into the hot sudsy water the sink had prepared just for them. It always reminded Hermione of the animated movie,  _Beauty and the Beast,_  she'd seen as a child before she'd discovered she was magical, too.

"Is there anything special you had in mind for tonight?" Draco asked once he was done. What he wanted to do was carry Hermione up the stairs for another round of lovemaking, but he didn't want to push it. Hermione's hormones had been a wonderful ally to his libido during her pregnancy, but she was already on maternity leave from St. Mungo's where she worked as a healer. Draco was scared too much sex would cause Scorpius to come early, even though she laughed at his fears. But they only had two weeks left; he wanted to be sure his son stayed as long as he could in the 'luxury hotel', as Hermione referred to her womb.

She gave him a knowing smile as an answer to his question. It immediately made him curious. And a bit nervous, to tell the truth. What mischief was she up to?

He didn't have to wait long to find out. Hermione padded over to the telly saying, "It took me forever to find this, but once I did, I knew we had to get it. It arrived this morning."

He watched as she popped in one of the circular discs that contained muggle entertainment. The screen came to life with black and white images, accompanied by music that sounded eerily familiar. It was a movie, an old one by the looks of it. The title of the film swept across the screen.  _The Talk of Town Square._

"Wha…," was all Draco got out before the names of the cast began to appear. One of them had been his.

Rick Cavanaugh.

"I don't know why we hadn't thought to do this before," said Hermione as she sat back down next to her husband.

"Probably because none of the movies I made were ever any good." Still, Draco was touched. It was a very surreal experience seeing a former version of himself fill the screen. He found he had a hard time watching it.

"What's wrong?" Hermione asked when she noticed his uneasiness.

"Godric's gonads….I was wretchedly awful, wasn't I?"

Hermione laughed at the expression Draco picked up from Ron. "No, you weren't. You were quite a good actor, considering the material you had to work with."

Draco cringed at the outdated dialogue. "Do we have to keep watching this?"

"Hey…..I was enjoying it!" Hermione protested when he tried to take the remote from her.

But the tide soon turned. It wasn't long before his former incarnation got a surprise kiss from one of the blonde bombshells in the film who had been flirting with his character during a scene at a dance. Now it was Hermione's turn to wince.

"Oh well, never mind then. I suppose we can continue to watch it, if you insist," Draco drawled, a smirk blooming across his face.

Hermione's mouth puckered in a frown. She let out an angry growl when the actress continued her scripted seduction of Rick's character. "Why that cow," she hissed. "She can't keep her paws off you!"

Draco was finding it hard to keep a straight face. "Cows don't have paws, darling."

"Ugh! This is a horrible movie. Let's do something else," Hermione finally said when Rick and the buxom blonde started dancing.

"You don't want to watch Lana Turner? She was a rather good actress for her time," Draco winked.

His teasing grin vanished when he saw Hermione's bottom lip quiver. "I….I bet she was a good kisser, too."

He knew that was Hermione's hormones talking. His witch was a strong woman and not normally given to emotional insecurities.

"That movie was made before I ever laid eyes on you as Gloria. Which if I recall the first time correctly, was when another man was kissing you."

Hermione sheepishly ducked her head, peeking at her husband through her eyelashes, already damp with unshed tears.

"As soon as I saw you, I felt an immediate connection. By the end of that night, I knew I would never want another woman."

"But….but… Lana..." she sniffed.

Draco tenderly brushed her curls from her face. "...was not Gloria," He finished for her. "She wasn't Annabelle, or Mary….or Hadassah, either. Or any of the other versions of you who have bewitched me from the beginning of time. " He gave her a soft kiss. "Only you will ever own my heart."

Hermione threw her arms around Draco's neck, her stomach hitting his groin like a wrecking ball, causing him to gasp. "I love you, Draco."

Quickly recovering, he replied, "I know, love. And I love you. Come on…..let's do something I know you'll enjoy, okay?"

In the end, they did make it back up to their bedroom, but with a book in hand. He knew one of Hermione's favorite novels was Charlotte Bronte's  _Jane Eyre._ For a time, they read silently together, Draco cradling Hermione in their bed much the same way as he had in their bath. But it wasn't long until they came to a part of the book where he felt an affinity to the words. Lowering his lips to to her ear, he began to softly read aloud:

_I have for the first time found what I can truly love – I have found you. You are my sympathy – my better self – my good angel; I am bound to you with a strong attachment. I think you good, gifted, lovely: a fervent, a solemn passion is conceived in my heart; it leans to you, draws you to my center and spring of life, wraps my existence about you – and, kindling in pure, powerful flame, fuses you and me in one._

"This was what my soul felt from the first moment it met yours," he whispered.

With a queer little catch in her throat, Hermione got on all fours to pounce on her husband, passionately kissing the love of her many lives. It wasn't long until the book was forgotten, tossed somewhere in the room along with their clothes.

Some time later, Hermione played with the silky strands of Draco's hair as he listened to her heartbeat, his head cushioned by her breasts.

"You're so good to me. I don't deserve it," she uttered.

Draco lifted his head. "Are you barmy? It's the other way around. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me."

Hermione smiled. "You may have to change that statement in a couple of weeks."

Draco kissed her breast, then moved down to her protruding middle. "Mummy is always right, Son. You will be the best thing we've ever done."

"I suppose one day we'll be reading to him instead of each other."

Draco shook his head as he lay kisses on top of his unborn child. "I take it back, Scorpius. Mummy is right  _most_  of the time. But not this time." He gazed at his wife. "You and I will always read together, because we both love it." Then he turned back to Hermione's bump. "But we will read to you, too. In fact, I can read something to you now, Scorpius. Would you like to hear it? It's meant just for you."

"Yes, Daddy," Hermione, as Scorpius' proxy, answered for him in a ridiculously high-pitched voice.

Draco chuckled as he accioed  _Jane Eyre_  from where it had been hiding beneath their clothes.

"Thank you for making our son sound like a Cornish pixie."

Hermione playfully thumped him on the ear.

Moving over, Draco laid back down on the bed, but kept his head next to Hermione's stomach. He thumbed through the book until he found what he wanted. Hermione half rose from her slouched position, curious to see what he'd selected.

" _All my heart is yours, Sir: it belongs to you; and with you it will remain."_

Draco laid his large hand across the top of Hermione's bulge. "Just as I have with your mother, I will love you forever. I promise, Scorpius."

A definite kick followed his words.


End file.
